The Wonders of Group Chat
by Jazz likes it Loud
Summary: Through the help of a very bored Jazz, some of the Autobots discover group chats - and why they should avoid them.
1. Chapter 1

Another badly written Transformers fanfic. This one will contain suggestive language and content, as well as more than one wrench being thrown at innocent robots who had nothing to do with anything. I don't know why I decided to write a group chat fic (Transformers don't even have phones) but let's assume there's a messaging feature on datapads and Jazz figures out how to group chat.

Once again, I fail at writing Jazz's accent and am very sorry for that ;_;

* * *

"I have a little somethin' I want ta experiment with," Jazz announced. He distributed a stack of datapads between the gathered cluster of Autobots. "Turn 'em on an' when ya see the request, accept."

"Does this have a purpose, Jazz?" Optimus inquired, one of his servos hovering over a datapad.

"Sure it does, Prime." Jazz grinned. "Ah wanna see if we can rely on datapads for communication if our commlinks are down."

"And how would we do that?" Ratchet inquired crossly. "I have work to do banging dents out of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They really don't know when to quit."

"Ah tried to tell 'em not to practice Jet Judo on Aerialbots, Ratch, but they don't listen to me," Jazz said. "They can suffer a bit longer." The saboteur turned on his own datapad and went to work. "Remember, accept the request."

"The one askin' to connect devices?" Ironhide asked.

"That's the one," Jazz replied merrily. He continued tapping away at the screen of his datapad until he seemed satisfied. "There we go. Keep these datapads on your person at all times while the experiment is ongoin'. We'll see if this works."


	2. Irritating Ratchet

**The Jazzman:** Does anyone see this message?

 **Optimus Prime:** Affirmative, Jazz.

 **The Jazzman:** That's great!

 **Ratchet:** I see it, 'Jazzman'.

 **The Jazzman:** Again, that's great! What about 'Hide and Prowler?

 **Prowl:** Please desist, Jazz.

 **The Jazzman:** Well, he sees something, or he wouldn't have said that.

 **Ratchet:** That much is obvious.

 **Ratchet:** Just... don't make him crash, Jazz. I'm having a Pit of a time already, juggling this datapad, a wrench, and Sideswipe's left arm.

 **The Jazzman:** I don't even want to know, Ratchet.

 **Ironhide:** I see it, Jazz.

 **The Jazzman:** You're a little late to the party, but it's only getting started, so come on in, 'Hide :)

 **Ratchet:** I will never pretend to understand Jazz or the things that come out of his vocalizer.

 **The Jazzman:** I didn't say it, Ratch, I typed it.

 **Optimus Prime:** Is there a point to this, Jazz?

 **The Jazzman:** This is called the first test: ensuring everyone gets the message and receives notifs for it.

 **Prowl:** Notifs?

 **The Jazzman:** ...Notifications, Prowler.

* * *

Jazz tapped his fingers against his chin. Perched on Soundwave's berth, he was attempting to form a new plan of action for teaching his fellow Autobots how to use the group chat system.

"Jazz: Distracted," Soundwave noted.

"Sorry, 'Wave, just thinkin' 'bout that little project o' mine." Jazz leaned back to stretch out beside the Deceipticon third-in-command. "Hard ta teach some old dogs new tricks."

"Query: Jazz is teaching dogs?" Soundwave asked. There was a tiny sparkle in his visor, and Jazz had to laugh.

"More like Soundwave is tryin' ta make a joke an' it turned out terrible," he shot back. "Nah, mech, ya know who Ah'm teachin'. Ya just can't stay outta my processor, can ya?"

"Jazz: Enigmatic. Hard to read."

"Ah almost feel like that was supposed ta be a compliment."

"Assumption: Correct." Soundwave pulled the Autobot closer, and closed the gap between them.

* * *

 **The Jazzman:** hellooooooo

 **The Jazzman:** anyone out there?

 **Ratchet:** Please, write properly, Jazz. For Primus' sakes, you type like a youngling.

 **The Jazzman:** only 4 u

 **Ironhide:** Now look what you've done, Ratchet, he's typing even worse.

 **The Jazzman:** I'll be a good boy, I promise. ;)

 **Ratchet:** Now look what you've done, Ironhide, he's using the semi-colon parentheses thing.

 **The Jazzman:** it's a winking smiley face, ratch

 **Ratchet:** You have been hanging out with too many humans.

 **The Jazzman:** mmm nah, i picked that one up from rumble and frenzy

 **Ratchet:** I get the feeling you shouldn't have admitted that.

 **Ironhide:** Be glad Cliffjumper and Red Alert don't have access to this damn chat thing, or they'd be clambering over themselves to try and get you in the brig, you filthy traitor you.

 **The Jazzman:** I know. :)

 **Ratchet:** Why does he type properly when he addresses you, and not anyone else?

 **Prowl:** I suspect that Jazz is seeking to irritate you, Ratchet. I also suspect that he may be succeeding.

 **The Jazzman:** you always were a smart one, prowler ;)


	3. Baby Blue

**The Jazzman:** So today we're going to try something new!

 **Ratchet:** Oh, joy.

 **The Jazzman:** we're going to test the range of the messaging system :)

 **Prowl:** How do you propose we do this, Jazz?

 **The Jazzman:** it's easy! meet me in front of the base in ten.

 **Optimus Prime:** I'm indisposed at this time, Jazz. Could you find a replacement for me?

 **The Jazzman:** Sure thing, Prime! I need eight Autobots anyway. I'll just go round up four others and four datapads!

 **The Jazzman has disconnected from the chatroom.**

 **Ratchet:** Optimus, you certainly don't think these things are a viable alternative to comm units, do you?

 **Optimus Prime:** Ratchet, I suspect Jazz is merely bored, and the last thing we want on our hands is a bored Jazz. He seems rather... content to occupy himself with this 'chatroom', and I will not be the one to take his new toy away from him. Better he pester us with random messages, than he terrorize the other Autobots.

 **Ratchet:**...You may have a point. Well, this causes less work for me than the alternative. I'll play along with his little scheme.

 **Ironhide:** Of course he has a point. He's Prime.

 **Ratchet:** I'd noticed, Ironhide.

 **Sidestreaker has connected to the chatroom.**

 **Sunswipe has connected to the chatroom.**

 **The Jazzman has connected to the chatroom.**

 **Ratchet:** You brought the twins.

 **Wheeljack has connected to the chatroom.**

 **Baby Blue has connected to the chatroom.**

 **The Jazzman:** I have conjured our strike force :D

 **Ironhide:** Strike force? I like the sound of this

 **Ratchet:** YOU SAID NOTHING ABOUT A STRIKE FORCE, JAZZ

 **Sunswipe:** I get the feeling we aren't welcome here, sunny

 **Sidestreaker:** Don't call me that.

 **The Jazzman:** All of you, calm down! It was a joke, Ratch. Nah, we aren't striking anything and it's not a strike force. We're just going to go outside and walk in eight different directions and see how far we can get without losing communication with one another through the chatroom.

 **Wheeljack:** Hopefully this won't take too long. I've got a project to get back to.

 **Ratchet:** With Wheeljack joining us, I don't doubt that the datapads will explode. Don't let him tinker with them.

 **Wheeljack:** That's just mean, Ratchet. The dinobots didn't explode.

 **Ratchet:** You had my help building them, Wheeljack. Of course they didn't explode. Everything else, however...

 **The Jazzman:** easy ratch, he won't be tinkering with any datapads.

 **Ratchet:** Good, you're smarter than you act. I won't have to bring the wrench out.

 **The Jazzman:** just... leave the wrench inside and come to the front of the ark, okay ratch?

* * *

"Th' goal is just ta walk as far as ya can without losin' contact with th' rest of us," Jazz explained. "If we end up gettin' too far out, Ah'll send a message ta turn us all around an' bring us back ta the Ark. Any questions?"

There were none, unless Ratchet's rhetorical grumbles about Jazz being insane counted. The medic wasn't protesting as much as he could have, which probably meant he had something up his arm plating, but Jazz would work that out later. In the meantime, he had more plotting to do.

* * *

 **Baby Blue:** How is this supposed to work? Do we just type and send? Do we get notifications when others get the messages? Ohh, can we change our screen names? Why are our screen names what they are? And why are we doing this, anyway? It seems fun, but it also seems like it could get tiring. Do fingers get tired? My finger has never gotten tired on sniper duty. But maybe my fingers could get tired from this? Do you think that's possible?

 **Ratchet:** Primus, he even types like that.

 **The Jazzman:** It's a little experiment, Blue. As for the screen names, each of them reflects the name you entered on your datapad. You chose Baby Blue, I chose The Jazzman, so on so forth.

 **Baby Blue:** Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess! So the twins chose to be Sidestreaker and Sunswipe? Wow, that's confusing. Couldn't they just call themselves Sunny and Sides or something? I don't really understand why they mixed their names together like humans do online. Why do humans mix names together online, does anyone know? I've always wondered about that. Well, maybe not always, but ever since I discovered they did it I've been wondering about it.

 **The Jazzman:** If you're referring to what I think you are, Blue, the humans refer to this as a 'ship'.

 **Baby Blue:** A ship? Like the Ark? Or another kind of ship? Like a boat on the ocean? Or do they mean something else? They could mean something else. The humans do use words in odd manners at times. For instance, lemons and limes, which I've seen used to tag a written work about two humans interfacing. Why do humans write about interfacing, anyway? I mean, it doesn't make sense. Why would you write about it when you can just grab a friend and interface? No, wait, Earth doesn't work like that. Humans are so weird about interfacing!

 **Ironhide:** Primus help us all, Jazz, you had to give the kid a datapad and a chatroom.


End file.
